


Jack has a lot of feelings.

by villainsepiphany



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Character Study, Jack Has Feelings, M/M, all of them are Bitty related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-12-03 23:22:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20895851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/villainsepiphany/pseuds/villainsepiphany
Summary: Jack has an obsession with his boyfriend.He knows this. Bittle knows this. And quite frankly - the majority of the Providence Falconers know this, too.Jack isn’t exactly shy about it. If Bittle was your boyfriend, he thinks, you wouldn’t be able to shut up about him either - because between you and him? There is just so goddamn much to be obsessed about.





	Jack has a lot of feelings.

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd & written under the influence of chocolate and red wine.  
#Choices.

Jack has an obsession with his boyfriend.

He knows this. Bittle knows this. And quite frankly - the majority of the Providence Falconers know this too.

Jack isn’t exactly shy about it. If Bittle was your boyfriend, he thinks, you wouldn’t be able to shut up about him either - because between you and him? There is just so goddamn much to be obsessed about.

The thing about Bitty is that he is just that good. That good a person. That good a skater. That good a baker. He is _good_. Jack supposes that it’s perhaps a little unfair to try and measure other people up against him, but really, it can’t be helped and it’s hardly Bitty’s fault that he is simply better than the rest.

Sometimes the way he skates is enough to make Jack want to weep. In joy, that is. Now, Jack is surrounded by men who skate better than god on a daily basis, sure, but to him Bittle doesn’t simply skate, no, oh no. He glides across the ice. He dances across it in a way that is so effortless and elegant that it has made Jack mad in the past.

Nobody handling a hockey stick with this level of precision should be allowed to look so incredibly graceful while doing it.

These days Jack simply stares, admires, and commits every single second of the spectacle that is Bittle on ice to memory.

Even off the ice Bitty is still a spectacle to behold. When he dances around the kitchen, Beyoncé blaring from the speakers, telling the world and anyone willing to listen something about single ladies and countdowns and lemonade and Bits is wearing those tiny little red shorts that ride up his legs when he moves and —

_Fuck._

Jack loves those shorts. 

Jack likes to sneak up then, catch Bitty with a solid arm around his middle, press close, press his lips to the nape of Bitty’s neck. There is almost nothing better than the way the tips of his little ears turn all red whenever Jack does. Bitty usually scolds him then, his voice bright and so unbearably fond that Jack’s heart nearly jumps out of his chest.

Most times Jack releases Bits with a laugh, after stealing another kiss, giving him another squeeze. Most times.

Well.

Sometimes Jack doesn’t.  
  
Sometimes Jack is overwhelmed with how enticing Bitty’s lithe body feels in his arms, when he squirms and arches and gasps, and Jack really has no other choice than to press his lips against his warm skin again. And again. Until Bitty’s candy pink lips fall open and he makes those little noises Jack loves so, so much, all breathy and high and addictive.

Jack doesn’t know how often they’ve stood in the kitchen like that, Bitty sandwiched between a countertop and the looming bulk of his body, his lips greedy on his warm skin, kissing, biting, loving.

There’s been a rule once. No funny business in Bitty’s kitchen. Jack plays by the rules. Nearly all the time.

  
But even Jack agrees that some rules were meant to be broken.  
  
With Bitty’s perfect peach of a butt pressing back against him, his back arched in that sinfully elegant curve, with the way his hands are pressed flat against the counter for support Jack feels greedy, almost a little unhinged. He wants.

Badly.

There’s nothing easier than grabbing Bitty around his little waist, hoisting him up and over his shoulder, one hand resting on that perfect peach to keep him in place.

Bitty always giggles when he’s tossed down onto the mattress. Nothing feels quite as right as seeing him stretched out on his bed, all sun kissed skin and soulful eyes. Jack never needs long to follow.

There’s no awkwardness anymore. No shy and fumbling touches. Jack has taken his sweet time to learn how to play Bitty’ body, how to make him gasp and arch, how to turn those pretty little whines into helpless whimpers, shuddering moans.

Jack loves what comes after just as much. The solid weight of Bitty curled against his side, how he fits perfectly into his arms. The way he rests his head on Jack’s chest, listening to his heartbeat until his own breath has evened out, pressing affectionate little kisses to his sweaty skin from time to time.

Sure, holding the Stanley Cup will always be up there - but there’s no question that Eric is the best damned prize he’s ever won.


End file.
